


Blind

by A_Boy_Named_Mike



Series: MadaTobi Week [16]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Boy_Named_Mike/pseuds/A_Boy_Named_Mike
Summary: Prompt:Arranged marriage(fromMadaTobi Week 2019).





	Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Arranged marriage_ (from **[MadaTobi Week 2019](https://madatobiweek.tumblr.com/post/182718063236/madatobi-week-2019)**).

Tobirama looks at her and Madara cannot breathe.

He feels it, the way breath stutters and stills within his lungs, the way bile rises and lodges within the prison of his throat.

Heat within his eyes, pain and pain and _pain,_ yet he cannot look away.

Tobirama looks at Terumi, his face softened with fondness, his eyes alight with desire. He looks at Terumi the way he's never looked at Madara.

He does not look at Madara at all.

  


* * *

  


"He's no good for you."

Hikaku tells him this, casual like it isn't supposed to matter, like he hasn't been intending to say this for over two years.

Madara watches him load his gun, watches the way Hikaku's hair falls into his eyes. Watches how those eyes do not meet Madara's own.

"You should stay away from him," Hikaku says.

Madara wonders if he would find venom in his gaze the way he finds it in his voice. Calm and flippant and hateful.

"I know," Madara says, and it is nothing but truth.

He has always known that Tobirama would destroy him.

  


* * *

  


The first thing Madara thinks when he meets Tobirama is _Demon._

He is a terrifying thing, tall and pale and his eyes — they are blood and fire.

Madara sits in the closet, trembling, hugging his knees. Tobirama before him, this dark, powerful thing. There is blood upon his suit. Madara knows it is his father's. He can still hear the muted gunshots, the sound of his father's final breath driven from his lungs, the thud of his body upon the floor. All so quiet, quiet, quiet.

Now he stares at Tobirama, at his large hand, unfolded before him.

"Come," Tobirama says, and Madara does.

  


* * *

  


He is eleven when he makes his first kill.

Blood. Upon the floor, beneath the body, bleeding out. Blood, roaring within his ears, raging within his veins. Madara feels numb. He feels too much. Thinks that he might throw up. He wants to run away. Wants to kill again.

Tobirama's hand upon his shoulder. Warmth, through the fabric of Madara's shirt. Warmth that anchors him.

Tobirama is a contradiction. Fire and frost. Madara sees pride in his eyes.

"You did good," Tobirama tells him.

It is the moment Madara falls in love.

  


* * *

  


_They're not meant to love each other._

Madara tells himself this, over and over and over.

Repeating it doesn't make it true.

  


* * *

  


Tobirama is every demon in old tales, every nightmare he's ever had.

Madara thinks this, watching Tobirama stand amid corpses, watching him ash his cigarette in the blood puddled at his feet.

Tobirama, so much _life_ in his eyes, burning, burning, burning.

Madara thinks about the monsters in bedtime stories he used to hear and thinks that Tobirama has been there all his life, a looming, waiting shadow.

  


* * *

  


Heat, all over him. Yet all Madara feels is cold. His face upon his pillow. He bites the edge of it, desperate, angry.

Hikaku's breath upon his ear. A parody of a lover's whisper. "Don't you see that he will never love you?" His hands upon Madara's hips. His nails, digging unkindly.

"He will never want you," Hikaku says, thrusts sharp and furious and nowhere near violent enough.

Madara keeps his eyes squeezed shut. Pretends it's Tobirama fucking him. Tobirama, taking, taking, taking.

"He will never love you," Hikaku reiterates, and it sounds so much like _See me. Want me. Love **me.**_ His hand is a rough, brutal thing, grasping Madara's cock, no gentleness in his touch.

Madara comes with a loud, broken cry that sounds exactly like Tobirama's name.

  


* * *

  


"Mei and I are to be married."

Tobirama says this like an afterthought, like it doesn't matter, like he isn't crushing Madara's already battered heart. His gaze does not wander from Madara's own.

Madara wonders if Tobirama sees it — the moment of his breaking. Tobirama has always been able to see right through him.

He knows he should say something. _Congratulations,_ or something ridiculously banal like that, but he cannot bring himself to lie. He has never been able to lie to Tobirama.

"Our Families have been at war for far too long. This will put an end to it."

Madara hates how Tobirama speaks of this as if it were a business transaction. Hates how it is both a truth and a lie.

  


* * *

  


Terumi Mei is all the things he is not.

Gentle. Kind. Class in her bearing and viciousness in her bones, malice and elegance within her blood. There is poison in the politeness of her words.

Madara listens to her vow of loyalty and love and eternity. It makes him sick. He bites his lip. His fingers curl against his knees, crumpling the fabric of his pants.

Hikaku's eyes upon him. Madara can feel the burn of his gaze, a warning. He tries to ignore it. Notices instead, the way Tobirama stands, so powerful and resplendent in his suit, a monster wrapped in the raiment of pride.

Tobirama, who is so cold, who burns brighter than all the flames of damnation.

Madara is all at once shattered and hollowed and consumed.

Tobirama's hands. They engulf Terumi's the way they once engulfed Madara's own, so long ago now.

Madara remembers it vividly. The warmth of Tobirama's palm, the strength of it, as it pulled him into this black, black world. Madara remembers never feeling safer.

Tobirama's voice. He vows protection and Madara knows he means it as much for Terumi as her Family.

Tobirama who would quell a war for her.

Madara wishes Tobirama would start one for _him._

  


* * *

  


They kiss with rings upon their fingers. The church erupts in cheers and whistles and laughter. Madara cannot move. Hikaku's hand upon his arm. Madara feels disgust, within his belly, his throat, the marrow of his bones. He wants to run.

Tobirama and Terumi are overwhelmed with smiles, fake and genuine. With congratulatory hugs and handshakes. Hikaku's grip tightens. "Madara," he says, and Madara hates it, _loathes_ the way his name sounds in Hikaku's voice, so urgent and frustrated and nothing like Tobirama at all.

He shoves Hikaku's hand away. So much bile within his throat. He can feel his scream behind the hard clench of his teeth, raging, raging. The urge to flee rises.

He does not resist it.


End file.
